


The Adventure That Shall Fall To Us

by TrisB



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: Additional Warnings Apply, F/M, Sibling Incest, or whatever, ~implications
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-12-12
Updated: 2005-12-12
Packaged: 2017-10-28 22:01:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/312625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrisB/pseuds/TrisB
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Susan loses her virginity to a boy named Harold on a Thursday when it's raining outside and her mother thinks she's at the movies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Adventure That Shall Fall To Us

"And one year it fell out that Tumnus (who was a middle-aged Faun by now and beginning to be stout) came down the river and brought them news that the White Stag had once more appeared in his parts — the White Stag who would give you wishes if you caught him."  
\- C.S. Lewis, _The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe_

 

Susan loses her virginity to a boy named Harold on a Thursday when it's raining outside and her mother thinks she's at the movies. He makes a series of undignified noises as he searches for an angle from which to enter her, and, embarrassed, she looks away. Garters and braces and sensible autumn clothing are strewn around the floor, including an old threadbare jumper that used to be too big on stormy nights in the heart of the country.

Harold still hasn't got things sorted, and he doesn't know where to put his hands, but in between pulses of the flickering lamp his face is indistinct. When the light is dim, Susan finds, her body knows what to do.

 _Oh_ , Susan thinks. _Oh_.

***

 

One against three. The White Stag beckoned.

She had wanted to stay.

***

 

Lymon is older, more experienced than Harold. He pours her a cup of coffee the next morning and she feels wonderfully old. Susan says she has to powder her nose and in the bathroom struggles briefly to recreate the previous night's hair style, but it's no use. Smiling contrast red, she returns to the kitchen, and kisses Lymon in a way that she hopes will be interpreted as mature and enticing. Lipstick is frivolous with the country still in shock, but to Susan, it's cheaper than the alternative.

On the way home, she catches sight of her rumpled fingerwaves in a reflective store window; sees herself swimming in a plain grey jumper. Maybe a red coat would do nicely.

***

 

She missed the fair creatures of Narnia, the Talking Animals who had accompanied every hunt. Dear Peelipeep the Mouse, and Mufflebunion the dwarf. Penyn and Aleigh, the wise horses — never ridden, of course, except in times of great urgency. King and Queen, they would ride their dumb beasts, trailing benediction for all of Narnia, and discuss in even tones and chivalrous language the day's quarry with their counselors. Rabbits, owls, and bears all had their say. Centaurs brought up the rear, keeping a respectful distance; they talked about constellations with the unicorns.

***

 

Daniel says she has a gentle touch, and she doesn't answer in words.

***

 

They forgot it almost as soon as they stumbled back through the wardrobe. Or, rather, they began to. The words came out strangely in the house in the country, and she couldn't keep the carriage of a queen when Mrs. Macready got to scolding. They'd meet in the otherwise empty room late at night and sit with their backs against the wardrobe, and through the hours keep a vigil for the dying of their memories.

Sometimes they'd wear fur coats from the wardrobe just for fun, but sometimes instead Peter would take off his boring grey jumper, and help Susan tug it on over her head. It was pleasantly oversized; as warm, Susan thought, as one of the Professor's great coats, or nearly in any case.

"I just wish we'd caught that damn stag, though," she burst out one night, and Peter laughed and knocked against her in brotherly mirth. His fingers burrowed in the knitted loops of her sleeve, and they were closer than they'd been in weeks.

She didn't say anything, because things like "asunder" sounded ridiculous when she wasn't wearing a crown, and had no arrows to match her words.

***

 

 _And I say also unto thee, That thou art Peter, and upon this rock I will build my church; and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it._

Susan does not like church, does not like visiting cemeteries where roses wind around each headstone, but her family is dead, and someone jolly well has to.

***

 

She thought about what her wishes would have been.

**Author's Note:**

> Author's commentary [here](http://allbackups.dreamwidth.org/343733.html).


End file.
